


Nausea and Liquid Misery

by oblongpill



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: Abusive Parents, Angst, Bad Parenting, Burning, Daddy Issues, Drinking, Flashbacks, Late Night Conversations, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sad Ending, Self-Harm, Smoking, Suicidal Thoughts, Vomit Mention, extremely mild for that one, implied at least - Freeform, she just mentions jumping off a cliff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-07-20 14:28:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16139159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oblongpill/pseuds/oblongpill
Summary: Murdoc wakes up late one night from one of his many flashback nightmares involving his father. When he goes downstairs for a snack and a smoke to calm his nerves, he doesn't expect to see Noodle struggling with the same thing. Dads suck.tw: self harm and graphic parental abuse





	Nausea and Liquid Misery

**Author's Note:**

> hey guys, this is like super self-projecting lol. i guess this fic is my way of rationalizing the way i handle my own ptsd and the opening scene is written from experience, so uuuh. yeah lol. you read the warnings, you know whats up. yeet

There was pressure around his neck. It came from a pair of warm, boney, wrinkled somethings. He was crying. What was in front of him? A pair of ugly snarling eyes, but that was nothing new. What was beside him? It sounded like scampering footsteps retreating to the safety of one’s room. The coward. Murdoc knew he couldn’t trust Hannibal to stick around for anything. He was crying. Spit landed on his face as the man in front of him screamed and yelled and cursed. Crying. He wasn’t able to make out any words, as his mind focused more on the fact that the grip around his throat tightened. He was drooling on the attacker’s fleshy choking weapons. He couldn’t bring himself to call them hands--those were too human. He was drowning in his own frothy saliva. He couldn’t breathe. Crying. He was going to die here. Crying. He was being a baby. Why couldn’t he just stop fucking crying? He was dying.

Dying.

Dying.

For fuck’s sake, why did dying take so long?

As if on cue, his eye rolled back and a black border took over his vision. His only company was the quiet. His body and mind weren’t connected--not  _ really _ . He felt nothing. And yet, all at once, he started falling. The jolt of gravity was enough to wake Murdoc up. He sat up quickly, trembling violently and trying to get a sense of his surroundings like a checklist. He was in a bed in a small room. The clock beside him read 2:17 AM. He was alone and naked. It was cold in the room, but his overheated body was drenched in sticky sweat and dry saliva that had pooled on his cheek just moments before. He was alive. A pity, really.

These flashbacks and nightmares haunted Murdoc all week. They were like a fun lover. They abused him and fucked him thoroughly and roughly in waves for days or weeks at a time. When they were done with him, they abandoned him without so much as a note or a box of chocolates. They left an empty pit in his stomach anticipating when the next ruthless round would ambush him.

He scrambled around searching for the drawer in his desk next to his bed. Once opened, he felt around the clutter to find a small carton of cigarettes and a plastic lighter. There were just a few left over--he made a mental note to run out for more later today. Murdoc toyed with the lighter in his soggy scar-ridden hand for a minute until his numb legs regained feeling and he was able to get out of bed, carton in hand. Still out of breath, he put on some underwear, left his room and traveled down the stairs. He passed the living room and into the kitchen. It couldn’t hurt to get a late-night snack, could it? He hadn’t been eating the last few days because of how on edge he was. He could afford to be naughty.

The refrigerator light was blinding, but it was worth it to see the leftover cookie cake that Russel and 2D brought back from the supermarket this afternoon. Murdoc originally refused the dessert, barely even having the appetite for dinner. Now though, it was looking like the best damn thing he could stuff in his mouth, aside from the nicotine drugs he clutched close. Under it was a shelf with a small vodka bottle he snatched. It wasn’t his drink of choice for this hour, but anything to get him wasted was fully welcomed. “Come to Uncle Murdy,” he whispered. Evidently, he wasn’t quiet enough, as he heard a voice soon after.

“Murdoc, is that you?” It was Noodle. “Isn’t it a bit late for food?” Her voice was groggy and out of focus. She flipped on the light switch and Murdoc peaked his head from behind the refrigerator door to meet her gaze. One huge nasty scar stared back at him. He forgot Noodle still sported a reminder of a certain windmill-induced incident on her eye. She’d gotten so good with makeup that throughout most of the day, her face looked like it’d never seen injury before. “Jesus, would it kill you to at least put some pants on before you start raiding the fridge?”

“Last time I checked, I don’t have anything you haven’t already seen before.” He waved her off. “By the way, I was being considerate. I came down here when everyone else was asleep, it’s not my fault you decided to follow.” Murdoc set his food, bottle, and smoking supplies down on the counter behind him. “Why are you down here anyway? Everything alright, pumpkin?”

Noodle broke off a piece of the cookie cake and ate it. The frosting was sweeter than she remembered it being this afternoon. It was sickening. “Just here for a drink.” She reached over to the bottle Murdoc set out. “Is this all we have?” Murdoc nodded. She hoped for something softer for the night, but anything would do. It was a new bottle, too. She unscrewed the top and took the first chug. It stung her sleepy throat and warmed her insides enough to make her want to hurl. A hand interrupted her before she could take another swig.

“Hey, save some for the rest of us.” Murdoc picked up his carton and waved it. “Rough night, I take it. Would these help?” A solemn nod. “Help me take this stuff out to the porch. We’ll make it a family fun night. That sound good?” Another nod.

With two chairs pulled up outside and the bottle and carton set on a small table between them, Murdoc and Noodle took their seats. Murdoc kept the cookie cake on his lap, having asked Noodle if she wanted any. She didn’t. Was she sure? Yes, she was sure. What, was the cookie stale? No, she just wasn’t in the mood. Was she sure the cookie was fine and he wasn’t about to accidentally poison himself by eating it? She didn’t answer. He took that as a maybe and proceeded to take the risk. He took his first bite of food in what felt like years and he could have sworn his body could collapse of relief and utter joy. The moment couldn’t be complete, however, without a little bit of numbing. He reached over for the bottle, only to find it in Noodle’s possession again.

“Noodle, you’re really hogging that thing.” She finally surrendered the drink to the other and muttered an insincere apology. “You’re not normally like this. Not this late at night, at least. What’s wrong, sweetheart?” He took a drink and a cigarette. He handed her one, too, and gestured for her to lean over as he lit both of them. He took a long drag and reached over to her, placing his hand over hers, brushing it gently. She returned the gesture and held onto his hand. It was clammy and homey. She couldn’t help but make a little smile. Murdoc was a man of few weaknesses, but that smile was at the top of that short list. He’d do anything for the woman he still considered his little girl. He couldn’t even remember why he was here trying to get drunk in the first place. Not when he was busy feeling as close to a father as he ever thought he’d be. Could he even really consider himself a father? The caring father business was a tricky one. His certainly couldn’t get the job done. And with that, he suddenly remembered why he was down here.

The thumb stroking the back of his hand grounded him back to reality. He looked up at Noodle’s face and found a blank stare replacing that smile. “I’ve been having the nightmares again.” She looked back up at him. “Murdoc, I went to wash my face after I woke up and I scared myself in the mirror. I keep forgetting I have this thing.” She pointed at the scar covering her eye. “I keep hearing helicopters in my room. I feel like I’m falling sometimes, just like diving off a cliff. I want to dive off a cliff right now, for fuck’s sake.” She clenched pieces of her hair in frustration.

“Honey, I’m so--”

“I know. I know you are. And that’s why I hate that I can’t get over it. It’s not that I don’t believe you, it’s just that… Well--”

“You don’t forgive me.” Murdoc knew this exchange by heart. Nothing was ever resolved when they had this conversation, but it gave them the illusion of closure. “You don’t have to. I want you to, but I wouldn’t forgive me either.” This was normally where the conversation would end, which is why Murdoc was caught off guard by the question that followed and coughed on the swig of vodka he was taking.

“Do you forgive your dad?” Noodle finished with her cigarette and dropped the butt on the table between them. “I know he ruined your life, but did he ever apologize or anything?” She took the bottle from Murdoc and proceeded with that vice. She was already feeling the effects a few minutes ago, but the sips now were enough to tilt her over the edge. Her head was simultaneously heavy and in the clouds somehow. She suddenly wasn’t very interested in the answer to her questions.

Murdoc clenched his teeth. His mind was disconnected again, floating off into space with no intent to reconnect with his physical form. He decided he was finished with his cigarette and snuffed out the lit remainder on his wrist and palm beside the older scars. This did the trick of bringing him back to his body. It always took a couple tries to fully extinguish his cigarettes, as he would instinctively pull back when the initial pain of contact hit him. He could have sworn he smelt meat cooking. Once it was out, his skin immediately started blotching and he counted about seven new blisters-to-be on his arm’s mark collection. He was an ashtray on the go. He remembered first hearing that nickname decades ago when his father put out his cigarette on Murdoc’s thigh for the first time. Could he really forgive that? Did he ever think to do so? He took another bite of his cookie cake and put it on the table. He lost his appetite once again.

“I don’t know if I forgive him,” he said. “I know he didn’t apologize, that’s for sure.” He took the cardboard box between them and saw there was one cigarette left. He offered it to Noodle, figuring he’d rather the vodka at this point. She took it lazily and he lit that one for her, too. “You know, the bastard choked me once.” He laughed a little and took his first real big chug of the warm, stinging substance. It was so revoltingly good. It made his head spin and his gut bubble. Nothing beat the feeling of nausea and liquid misery. “Now that I think about it, I was being a little shit that day. I was basically asking for it. You know, it wasn’t all that bad. It didn’t last more than a few seconds--he couldn’t stand touching me most of the time, so I doubt he’d have his grimy paws on me long enough to kill me.” Another drink. “Sure felt like a long time, though. It’s weird rationalizing it. It’s weird justifying what he did. I don’t know, I’m not so good at remembering anymore.”

“Dads suck.”

“They do.” He looked over to her and found her twisting the end of her lit cigarette onto her thigh wincing at the pain. Like father, like daughter. “Hold on.” With what little coordination his brain had left to offer, he moved his hand to her leg as a barrier between the lit nub and her skin. He’d rather keep the burning to only one member of the family. “Go for it. Dads suck, right?” She jammed the lit butt into his hand with the intent to stab through in hopes of reaching her own skin below. Murdoc cried out and clenched onto Noodle’s leg. She lost herself in her rage and cruelly twisted the thing deeper into the flesh presented to her. Murdoc dug his long, sharp nails into her and nearly drew out blood. The cigarette was thoroughly snuffed and Murdoc was left with a relatively large yellow crater littered with ash. As much as it burned, he could only imagine how cathartic it would have felt to do that to his own father. He released Noodle from his grip and blew on the new injury, which was much worse than anything he’d done to himself in recent history. He groaned at the visceral burning sensation. “Fuck, kid. Who taught you to be so aggressive?”

“You did,” Noodle said.

“Oh, right.” He waved his hand in an attempt to cool it off. “Did it help, at least?”

“Kind of. Let me see it.” She took his hand and examined the wound, then grabbed the near-empty vodka bottle, which was just barely clinging on to whatever coolness it had. She placed it on the burn, to which Murdoc recoiled. “I think we need ice. This isn’t cold enough.” Noodle set the bottle down on the table and stood up, nearly losing balance several times. Murdoc finished up what little alcohol was left and followed her inside, catching her when she fell backward twice. Having more experience being in this state, he was slightly more stable.

Noodle readied an ice pack using paper towels and a plastic bag and met Murdoc on the couch in the living room. She placed it over the big burn and noticed the other smaller wounds on his wrist had already blistered. They matched the new burns on her own thigh. She was ready to throw up or cry. Probably both. “Are we fucked up?”

“What made you think that? The daddy-daughter drinking date? The fact that you burned the shit out of me? Or the fact that, as your parent, I encouraged it? Face it, kid. We’re worse than ‘fucked up’--we’ve got daddy issues.”

Noodle rubbed her tired eyes. Everything hurt. Her head and her stomach and her heart were competing over which would kill her. “I don’t want to not forgive you,” she said. “Maybe it’s the alcohol talking, but I do love you.”

“That’s definitely the alcohol talking,” he said. “I love you, too, Noodle. But promise me that any time you look at that scar, you remember who did it to you. Because as soon as you start forgetting or wondering if it was your fault, that’s when the old man wins.”

“For someone who wants me to forgive him, you’re awfully adamant about making sure I don’t.”

He shrugged. “As your dad, I’m always going to want you to forgive me. But as a guy who’s been in your shoes, I wish I held a stronger grudge. I regret letting that prick off so easily and making excuses for him. That’s one thing that’s hard to unlearn, pumpkin.”

Noodle moved the ice pack to a different, colder angle. Murdoc whimpered at the sudden change in temperature. All this talk was barely being processed by her vodka-logged brain. She was getting dizzy and Murdoc could tell. “You want to head back to sleep?” he asked. She nodded and got up off the couch. She didn’t feel like climbing the stairs to get back to her room. If she attempted that journey, she’d likely leave a vomit trail behind her. Instead, she turned off the kitchen light that carried over to the living room and made her way back to the couch where Murdoc spread out and made himself comfortable. She scooted his legs to the side so she could lay on the opposite end of his, using his shins as a makeshift pillow.

“Hey.” In the dark, she felt a sad, limp hand glide over hers. It was the one without the fresh burns. “Are you ok?” he asked.

“I’ll answer that tomorrow,” she said. She had no intention to do so. Murdoc had no intention of hearing the response.

The two warm bodies drifted off into sleep, deeply unsatisfied and deeply empty.

**Author's Note:**

> pls consider leaving a comment! my tumblr is @censorship


End file.
